


Colors

by defyaugury



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Drug Abuse, F/F, Overdose, Suicide, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defyaugury/pseuds/defyaugury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short collection of vignettes. As an artist, Mabel's always been in tune with colors. Now, it looks like there might be too many for her to handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colors

Green sweatshirt, the hems worn and ragged, with a few pinprick holes from being worn so many times. The John Deere logo glowed on its front in faded yellow, looking dull and faded as Pacifica lay on the floor of the motel room. Mabel remembered buying it for her when they were at the county fair and it had started to rain. Pacifica had said she hated it. It smelled like oak trees and summer days and laughter under a blanket. Mabel's fingers had slipped beneath the emerald hems when they’d kissed for the first time under the Ferris Wheel. She wore nearly every day after that. Now it hung on Pacifica's skeletal frame like a sack. It used to be the perfect fit. Mabel's fingers dug into the fabric, grabbing fistfuls and pulling, pulling. She shook Pacifica by that sweatshirt that was two sizes too big and the color of summer grass on a clear day. She screamed and shook and pleaded, but Pacifica simply rattled inside like a paper doll.

———

Orange pill bottles, the color of radioactive waste. Mabel recognized them. They were the same kind her mom kept in her medicine cabinet, lined up like soldiers prepared for battle in their white, plastic helmets. This one’s Lieutenant Cymbalta. That one, Commander Zolpidem. They sound like maracas when you shake them. An empty bottle rolled on the motel floor, another sat on the counter, tipped over, pills of every color and shape spilled everywhere and overflowing onto the floor. A friend of theirs, an empty bottle of vodka, stood on the table to accompany the empty pill bottles. Later, the doctors would tell her that nearly fifty pills were missing all together. Where'd Pacifica even get that many pills in the first place? Mabel didn't know and she didn't care, because Pacifica wasn't breathing.

———

Silver skin, pale and shining on the inside of a wrist. Veins ran painfully clear beneath the thin veil of translucent skin, a map right below the surface. Roads of blood. Streets of stardust. Pacifica had said that people were made of stardust once. She’d held up her wrist and shown Mabel the veins that ran through it, the two of them beneath a sky of glittering stars.Pacifica said that they were made from the same matter that made the universe, which meant they were made up of the stuff of stars. Thin white lines interrupted the veins every now and then, marks of a silver blade dragged across silver skin. Mabel could see them, the scars and the veins running along the underside of Pacifica's wrist. Her fingers fumbled over them, pressing into skin, searching for a pulse, searching for stardust that couldn’t die.

———

Yellow hair, greasy and stringy, clinging to cold, clammy skin. Usually, it fell in curtains, strands of golden silk. Mabel would run her fingers through it, braiding it, twisting it, tickling her nose with it as they watched a movie. It would sneak into her mouth whenever they slept too close and stick to sweaty skin in the middle of the night between hot, ragged breaths and heated kisses. Mabel pushed it back, the strands clinging to her fingers, so she could hold Pacifica's unconscious face in her hands. Yellow hair clawed at her, begging her not to let go.

———

Purple eyelids, so pale, so thin, Mabel could practically see through them. She knew what lay beneath them: dark blue eyes that glittered when she laughed and looked like the ocean in the sunlight, now buried beneath purple marble. Mabel kept looking at them, looking for any flicker or flutter of eyelashes. But they never moved, sealed shut to the world. They didn't even flinch when the freezing shower water hit the two of them with a jolt. Now would be the time for her to wake up, just like every other time before, just like every other close call, her eyes would fly open and she'd vomit her stomach into their laps. Water ran down Pacifica's face as Mabel continued to shake her, their clothes growing soaked. Her eyelids never moved.

———

Blue lips, parted slightly, as if they were waiting for something. Lips turned blue on a cold winter day, when they’d spent too long outside in the middle of a snowball fight. Lips turned blue because their heating had gone out and they spent the night under a mountain of blankets, laughing and tickling each other. Lips turned blue from freezing spring rain as they ran down the street, barefoot and shrieking before finding a gazebo and blue lips pressed to one another beneath the molding roof. Mabel bent over Pacifica, pressing her mouth to those corpse blue lips, breathing out with panicked gasps. One, two, three.

———

Red lights, flashing outside the motel, turning the room into a pulsing heart. The first time Mabel had seen lights like those, Pacifica had been in a jail cell, arrested for running away with her father's car. "It's not like he'd notice if _I_ was missing," she muttered as Mabel lead her outside, where the cold nipped at their noses, turning them to cherries. "Well, I'd notice," Mabel said. Now the lights flashed through the motel window, turning their faces different colors, like a pair of fickle chameleons. "I noticed," Mabel sobbed, eyes and nose as red as the lights outside. "Please come back, I noticed. I noticed. I noticed."

———

Mabel gripped at Pacifica's hoodie, screaming at a face that would never answer. Tears scorched her throat and she could feel herself falling apart with every passing second that Pacifica didn't move. She begged, she pleaded, and by the time the paramedics found them, Mabel was sobbing into Pacifica's chest, overflowing with too many colors. Too much blue, too much yellow and red and green, her entire world so saturated it hurt. Mabel felt her world fall around her, her seams tearing wide open, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. Everything was colors. Colors so painfully bright that they _hurt_ and she was covered in them, drowning in them as Pacifica lay motionless and blank on the floor.


End file.
